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Friday, February 4, 2011

Such is the Art of Turkey Basting - Part 3

So there I was in all my glory. Yes, having made the successful journey from the sperm thawing station to the insemination station at the hospital, I found myself lying flat on a table with Sara sitting anxiously by my side. My hips slightly were slightly elevated, and my legs stuck in stir-ups spread apart as far as they could possibly get.  I really don't think it could have been more romantic. Really.

The nurse entered the room just as I was getting comfortable with the idea that I half nude, shivering cold, on a table at a clinic waiting patiently with my wife to make our baby. Though she was pleasant and seemingly at ease with our entire situation (I'm sure she'd basted a million times before), her presence alone made Sara and I just that little bit more nervous.

Then the actual process began.

The nurse retrieved the vile of our swimmers from the steel table at the foot of the bed. Carefully, so very carefully, she opened it and proceeded to vacuum it's contents into the basting device. We were ready.

"Take a deep breath," our nurse suggested. "You may feel some cramping."

I don't think I breathed at all during the entire process, but I don't really remember. I do recall a pinching sensation, and I do remember my beautiful wife sitting next to me holding my hand. We watched each other. It was as close as we could be. Tears welled in our eyes.

"That's it," said the nurse pulling us out of our moment. She instructed us to wait for about ten minutes for "things to settle." This of course meant that I was still in a horizontal position.

Once our ten minutes was up, we escorted ourselves out of the hospital. We were on with our day, off to work I believe. It was as simple, probably simpler, than going to the dentist or getting a hair cut. Now all we had to do was wait.

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